‘Do you have to do that? It’s very unnerving,’ Ella said to the dog, as she sketched the outline of one of her characters, frowning when the shape of the head didn’t look quite right but not looking up from the heavy white cartridge paper. If she didn’t look at the dog, it might get bored and stop watching her with that amber-eyed intensity. Annoyed that she’d been side-swiped by her mother’s emotional blackmail, she’d deliberately put off the prescribed walk until later. She had work to do. Her publisher was waiting – with shortening patience, if the last email was to go by – for the latest in the series of Cuthbert Mouse books. And at this rate, she was going to have a long wait.
Ella had gone straight up to the loft and got out the bare minimum of art stuff. Pencils and paper. The rest could wait. If she just made a start it might ease the pressure.
The dog sighed and lifted its eyebrows in an amusingly quizzical way. She carried on pencilling in Cuthbert’s tail, trying to ignore the definite snake-like aspects that weren’t supposed to be there. The dog yawned, with a yowly sound-effect, before walking round to the other side of her chair.
‘What?’ Ella said after it had shifted and fidgeted its way around the room for ten minutes. ‘It’s hard enough trying to do this without you disturbing me.’
Damn, Cuthbert looked more like evil Yoda than happy dormouse.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ With sudden slashes, she scribbled over the feral little face and chucked down the pencil. ‘OK. We’ll go for a walk.’
The weather outside didn’t look promising. ‘If I get drenched I won’t be pleased.’ Nature and she weren’t exactly at one. In fact, she was pretty sure it hated her as much as she hated it at the moment. Rain ran in haphazard, maverick rivulets down the Velux windows. She didn’t even own a pair of wellies. Snow boots or trainers? What had possessed her to pack either? Not that the process of filling her cases and every last bag had been anywhere nearing methodical. Trainers were fashion suicide – she wasn’t even sure how she came to own a pair and certainly not these lurid atrocities. The bloody snow boots had cost a fortune, the one time they’d been skiing. Neither she nor Patrick had taken to it.
Day-glo pink trainers, then. What else though? It was so cold this morning and would be even colder up in the woods which crowned the Chiltern Hills. It’d have to be layers. Tights, baggy leggings and an ancient pair of cargo pants usually reserved for decorating. Might as well go the whole hog and look totally ridiculous. She topped the ensemble with a turquoise ski jacket. Lord knows it wouldn’t ever be worn on the ski slopes again.
By the time her laces were tied, the dog was waiting by the front door, lead in its mouth, tail going like a windscreen wiper on full speed. At least one of them was glad to be getting out. Ella caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and wanted to cry. Seriously? What did she look like? Thank God, no one round here knew her.
She drove, or rather trundled, the short distance up to Wendover Woods in Magda’s funny little red car. The whole way she had to keep winding up the window because with each rattle it worked its way down again. As soon as the boot was opened, the stupid dog jumped out, knocking her flying into a puddle on the gravelled surface.
‘Urgh!’ Dark muddy water immediately soaked through her shoes, tights, leggings and trousers. The dog didn’t so much as look back. No, the darned animal hit the ground running and was off, darting in front of a car just turning into the car park. Shit. An irate horn blared. Not even a full day and she’d nearly killed the stupid thing.
The dog came dancing back to her side and she grabbed its collar, trying to ignore the cold slap of wet material against skin. She was so not a country girl. Managing to successfully avoid the eye of the driver, it took Ella several attempts before she latched the lead onto the metal ring of the collar.
‘Idiotic creature.’ Her heart banged against her ribs. God, what would she have told Magda if she’d damaged her dog on its first outing? What did you do if a dog got hurt? Did you have ambulances for animals? Where was the nearest vet? Were they like doctors? Did you have to register with them? Did they have accident and emergency, like for people, where you sat dry-eyed, in bloodstained embarrassment, for hours?
She tugged sharply at the lead. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here, before that bloke spots us.’ Semi-jogging to get away from the car park before he got out of his car, she hit a speed not managed since school days. As soon as she was out of sight, she had to stop. Clutching her knees, she bent over, desperately trying to suck air into tortured lungs. Her heart pounded so vigorously she could feel the pulse attempting to fight its way out of her temple. Any moment it might explode. Everything went black. Heavens, was she having some kind of heart attack?
Gradually catching her breath, she stood up, worrying she might be sick at any second.
Sucking in lungsful of air, praying no throwing up would be involved, she took a slower pace, cautiously letting the dog off its lead. Thankfully it didn’t run off. Like a newly released prisoner, it sniffed and snuffled the verges on either side of the lane, criss-crossing backwards and forwards in front and behind, chasing some elusive scent of goodness only knows what.
The dank air closed in. Ella could hear the steady incessant drip, drip of water through the trees. Damp seeped into her layers, spreading fingers of cold, as she plodded along behind the dog, feet squelching in trainers which were not built for the uphill path down which streams of water chased their way.
Why on earth had her mother thought this would do her good? All she wanted was to curl up under a duvet and sleep for ever. Snuggle in with imagination and memory to keep her company, replaying the elusive imaginary conversation in her head where Patrick would admit he’d made a terrible, terrible mistake. That he’d changed his mind.
The hollowness in her stomach stopped her in her tracks and she looked around at the trees melting into the hazy air. If she kept walking could she fade into the mist too? Dissolve into the landscape. Not have to face the cold reality of what she’d lost.
She stared sightless into the gloom until a wet head nudged her hand. She flinched.
‘Urgh.’ She searched for a tissue in her pocket.
The dog wagged its tail and bounced away before coming back to waddle around her feet in circles, batting the back of her knees as if to urge her on. She moved stiffly.
The woods, perched high up in the Chilterns, outlined the contours like a thick pelt of velvet, softening the undulating hills in a tapestry of vivid greens. The air smelt of peat and grass, a musky, grubby scent that brought back images of muddy boots and puddles. Her footsteps were muffled by the mulch of years of leaf fall. Overhead, leaves just unfurling their shades of bright spring greens fluttered in a light breeze with the occasional rusty groan of tree branches rubbing together. As Ella listened, she realised that far from being totally silent the woods reverberated with sounds. Bird song, wood pigeons cooing, others whistling, the dog’s heavy pants and the pad pad of its paws as it nosed through the undergrowth.
Some far-sighted soul had placed a bench on the top of the escarpment, from which one could take in the view of Aylesbury Vale stretching towards the distant horizon, if the weather was good enough. Not today, though. She sat, plunking herself down with an uncoordinated thud, the dog at her feet, as she stared into the drizzly plain below. The weather matched her mood. The ache was still there. The constant lead weight wedged under her ribs was definitely still there, along with the strung-out, stressed tightness which if she was honest had been there for much longer than the last month.
When had it become so much a part of her life? That horrid sense of being late for something all the time, something intangible that she couldn’t see or touch but that made her incessantly anxious and worried. It had been there before Christmas. Bonfire night. Halloween. The holiday to Rome in September.
For some stupid, stupid reason, she started to cry. Bugger, she’d thought she was all cried out. As the tears streamed down her cheek, the dog – Tess – came and sat right beside her, leaning heavily against Ella’s leg. Absently she touched one of her ears.
‘I bet you think I’m mad, don’t you, Tess?’ Beneath her fingers, the dog’s ear felt surprising soft and velvety. ‘Humans are so complicated. It must be much easier to be a dog. Eat, sleep, walk. You don’t have relationships. Don’t have jobs. Big decisions. People letting you down.’
The dog watched her, the eyes soft and gentle, as Ella stroked her head. She shuffled closer as if she were listening to every word.
‘You’ve no idea what I’m talking about, have you?’
The dog just blinked.
*
The cold had taken hold, seeping right into her bones, and it took her a minute to get her car keys out of her pocket.
‘Come on, in you get,’ she said, opening the boot.
The dog stood next to her, looking as pathetic and exhausted as Ella felt.
‘Come on. In.’ Ella tapped the car, as if that might help. ‘The sooner you get in the sooner we can warm up.’
She leaned down and got a noseful of yucky wet dog smell as she looped her arms around the barrel belly and tugged.
Tess stood four square as if she’d dug her paws in and wasn’t going anywhere.
‘Oh, for crying out loud.’ Ella opened the back passenger door. Maybe that would be easier for the dog.
She heard a crunch of gravel and turned around to see a man marching towards her with quick angry strides.
‘What—’ she managed to stammer, aware of his fury. Dark brows had drawn in two angry slashes about flashing eyes.
‘Are you mad?’ he growled.
‘Pardon?’ What was his problem? She peered up at him from underneath the hood of her ski jacket.
‘Have you any idea what happens to a dog if you brake suddenly? Not just to you. On impact a dog can have the equivalent weight of a baby elephant. Imagine that going through the windscreen. You wouldn’t have to be going very fast. And a dog this size could do a hell of lot of damage . . . if it survived.’
She looked at the dog and the car, about to explain that she was new at this but there wasn’t a chance – a brief breath and he was off again.
‘People like you make me sick. A perfectly healthy dog and look at the state of her. Overweight and under-exercised. Not to add that you have no idea of how to look after her. She needs to go on a serious diet and get more exercise.’ His mouth tightened and then he added, ‘You both do.’
Ella’s mouth dropped open. What?!
‘You’ve given that dog less than fifteen minutes of exercise. Labs are gun dogs. Bred to be working dogs. Christ, you’ve got all this,’ he spread his arms about, ‘and you manage less than a quarter of an hour.’ He huffed. ‘Irresponsible pet owners like you make me sick.’
Ella felt so winded by the full-frontal tirade she couldn’t seem to make her mouth work. She stood, stiff, her limbs frozen into wary shock, eyeing him.
Now he’d stopped he just stood there, looking back at her. What did he want?
The dog looked balefully at him. Ella touched Tess’s head. See, the dog was on her side.
Suddenly the man turned and it looked as if he was about to walk away, but then he spun around, crouched down and lifted Tess up. He paused and looked at Ella as if he were going to say something and then thought better of it, as he gently placed the dog in the car. He carefully closed the boot, ducked his head and marched off.
She. Was. Not. Going. To. Cry. At least not in front of him. It was worse than being dressed down by the headmaster at school, not that she ever had been. As he disappeared into the gloom she still couldn’t think of a single quick-witted comeback. Bastard didn’t quite cut it.
‘Wanky, pompous gitface.’ Her back straightened. Saying the words out loud made her feel better, even though she still would have liked to use a good put-down. ‘Bloody men.’ All of them were hateful.
From the back of the car, the dog whined.
‘And you can be quiet. This is all your fault.’ She could have been at home in a nice warm house, inside of being caked from head to foot in mud. ‘I’m probably going to get trench foot.’ Water seeped down her neck and her cargo pants were heading west, their sodden weight dragging them down. Diet and exercise. Ha! She glared at her padded coat and the bulging layers. She’d never been so underweight as right now.
The day officially couldn’t get any worse.